


Oh, they're such pretty things

by risinggreatness



Series: Circle 'round the sun [100]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Non-Graphic Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risinggreatness/pseuds/risinggreatness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leia and Mara are given wedding gifts (not EU compliant)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, they're such pretty things

Her mother’s dress and veil carefully folded over a chair, Han’s clothes scattered to the floor, Leia buries her face into his shoulder, warmed by the afternoon light streaming through their window.

He shudders at her lips against bare skin, then suddenly flips over, startling Leia out of her contentment and instinctively protecting her bared stomach. He doesn’t quite sit up, but bends and reaches for something seemingly on the floor. His shirt gets flung further away from the bed.

“You’re not late for a meeting are you?” she asks, annoyed their last days must be so punctured and fleeting. Even in her annoyance, she reaches out again to keep herself close to him, to keep all three of them together.

But when he turns around again to her, it’s only a small box in his hand and nerves and worry written plain across his face.

Leia swallows a dry lump in her throat.

“Han, you didn’t –”

“Look I’m not crazy about most of this tradition stuff – okay almost any of it,” he amends at her screwed up face, “but there are some things you gotta do. You know?”

Leia doesn’t know why her fingers should be trembling so as she reaches to retrieve what Han offers. His own hands do the same.

The rings, by all standards are plain: silver and unadorned bands, but Leia finds herself at a loss for words.

“I mean, they’re new – had to, but you know. Perfectly acceptable by all those honchos who want to elbow in. I asked.” His voice is shaky, the way it gets sometimes when he’s a little afraid of her.

Leia continues to stare at them, then him.

Han licks his lips, “You’re not saying anything.”

It’s the hormones or his thoughtfulness, or the dreadful fact he’s leaving with no prospect for return ( _only one of those things she should have forgotten_ ), but Leia bursts into tears.

‘Hey, hey, hey,” Han soothes, pulling her close again. Leia bunches the box up in her fist and curls into his chest, letting the sobs rock them both back and forth.

When she is spent, Han pulls away, waiting for her to speak again.

Wavering, “They’re lovely, thank you.”

“At least you don’t hate them,” he teases very quietly.

Leia’s laugh is weak but there. How could she hate them, foolish man?

“How’d you know to get silver?” she asks absently.

“I don’t live in the Outer Rim, you know,” he remarks, a little of his trademark annoyance returning.

“Of course, of course,” she waves, realizing her own ignorance.

Gruffly, “But you can’t tell your council friends I showed them to you before the ceremony. They were so annoying about not showing you I had to. Glad I did now – saved everyone else from your tears.”

“You’re such an ass,” she bites, though still a little watery. Then, on a verge of new tears, “I’m going to miss you so much.”

Han doesn’t hide the renewed shake in his voice, “Me too, but you’ve got Pres to look out for you.” He spreads his palm over her flat abdomen. ( _How different she’ll be when he gets back._ )

“Prestor,” she insists, reflexively and stubbornly.

“Pres.”

She’s in no mood to fight back, simply reenfolds herself in his arms, his fingers pulling at the skin on her back.

The ring box is returned to him until the appointed hour, but her finger feels naked until then.

\----------

The shoulder is sore and Mara’s sleeping weight pressing into his back does him no favors, but Luke isn’t about to throw her off.

Even as she stirs, Luke makes no sudden movements, content in their bed.

“Good morning.”

Mara responds with a grumble.

“How’s it feel to wake up Mrs. Skywalker?” knowing it will goad her on.

There’s a harsh laugh and a still tired, “About as good as you’re feeling, Mr. Jade.”

“So pretty damn good then.”

Luke thinks Mara is resettling to fall asleep again, but her finger traces at the new dark swoops and lines on the back of his right shoulder. He longs to do the same to her, the assurance it is still there and real, but it is her turn.

And his alertness is for something else entirely now, something he’s been itching to do for days now.

“I got you a gift,” he confesses into the pillow.

Even without looking, he knows the scrunched up face Mara makes.

“We said no gifts.”

He half shrugs then reaches for the drawer by their bedside, the box still secure and unnoticed by Mara. ( _Small wonders she doesn’t rifle through everything in their apartment._ )

She rolls off him and sits up, allowing him to turn and finally look at her for the first time in the morning. ( _She frowns at how she looks in the early daylight; he loves it best._ )

She goes very pale as she opens the lid, already knowing the contents. Luke bites his lower lip.

“I said I’d kill you if you bought this,” she says quietly, though still in awe and staring.

Daring, “I wanted to test that promise.” Then as quiet as her, “They’re what you wanted though, right? The veda pearls.”

“They didn’t go with the dress,” she dismisses.

( _She had been rather insistent on that point, but there was still the gleam of want in her eyes when they left the shop._ )

Shrugging, “So they’ll go with others.”

“You are overestimating the number of times you can get me in a dress.” The words should bite, but they are instead filled with love.

Still feeling daring, “I won’t really count the number of times you’re _in_ a dress.”

Mara quirks an eyebrow up, pulls the necklace string out, tossing the box to the ground.

“Come on mister farmboy-with-tastes-far-too-good-for-him, you’ve got to put this on me now.”

Her back to him, she sweeps back the hair from her neck in anticipation. Luke closes the clasp, but looks at the medallion on her right shoulder, the mate to his own.

Their marks, no clothing necessary.

**Author's Note:**

> See author bio for discussion on this 'verse.


End file.
